Having my way with Ulysses

Tan his breech well, the upstart! Write the stars and stripes on it!

Three Most Excellent Masters you Must have been, or thus far you could not have come; but farther you cannot go without my words, sign, and word of exhortation. My words are Shem, Japhet, and Adoniram; my sign is this: (thrusting his hand in his bosom); it is in imitation of one given by God to Moses, when He commanded him to thrust his hand into his bosom, and, taking it out, it became as leprous as snow. 11:53 pm

He came after me, his hand hidden but I could see quite clearly it was at its own game.  He spoke with his bloody mouth like some high priest and I’m supposed to kneel before him. And he revealed himself to me! But I didn’t listen to him. My blood will not be wooed by the grace of language and gesture, muchibus thankibus no! I am not to be soul transfigured no matter how soul transfiguring he might pretend to be. I deserve to live, deserve to live! He’s horny and terrible and does not deserve the benefit of the doubt. I say chastise him, spank him, geld him, and ride him! He ought to have his head couped at the neck.  He’s a pigdog and always was.

You ought to be thoroughly well ashamed of yourself.

Mr. Neverout: What! You have found a mare's nest and laugh at the eggs. Miss Notable: Pray, keep your breath to cool your porridge.11:49 pm

Oh would you look at this. A specimen of my maturer work disfigured by the hallmark of the beast. You ought to be ashamed. You ought to have your throat cut across, your tongue torn out by its roots, and your body buried in the rough sands of the sea at low water mark, where the tide ebbs and flows twice in twenty-four hours. Violator. Have you no pride? I’ll tell my brother on you. Are you drunk or something? Don’t come back to me crying scapegoat, saying you are misunderstood. Just look at the shitbroleeth you’ve made here. You ought to have your left breast torn open, your heart plucked out, and given to the wild beasts of the field and the fowls of the air. Don’t’ tell me I don’t see it and that’s all. You think this is something that is an entirely new departure. That’s a damnable foul lie, plagiarist, masquerading as a litterateur. You ought to have your body cut in two, your bowels removed and burned to ashes which are then to be scattered to the four winds of heaven. It is perfectly obvious that with the most inherant baseness you have cribbed some of my bestselling copy, really gorgeous stuff, a perfect gem, the love passages in which are beneath suspicion. O Lord, my God, is there no help for the Widow’s Son? If your so called literature were printed on paper I wouldn’t wipe my ass with it.